Goodbye to the Choir

An odd little episode, was the Beaker Choir.

Clearly we had to do something.  You can't have some out-of-control maniac running around the place pushing people around and not listening to anyone else.  Correction.  You can only have one of those.  And it wasn't going to be the choir master.

I'm still a little baffled.  It's one of those mysteries of the universe.  Where do choir masters come from?  He wasn't a member of the Beaker Folk before the Choir was formed.  He just appeared from somewhere at the precise moment.  Or was he behind the suggestion that a choir was needed?  Either way, instantly he assumed total power in his sphere of influence.  Which was ridiculous.  Under our democratic, heavily-delegated, bottom-up form of religion, it's only I who have total power.

So once again thanks to Young Keith.  He can be a right pain when he's freelancing off the leash, but when operating under archdruidical sanction he is just the right man for dirty deeds done dirt cheap.
So as the choir launched themselves into the Tedium (as I believe they called it) this morning, their robes once again strategically placed to trap all the hot air coming out the heating vents, Young Keith flicked the switch on the helium bottles.

Now initially the Choir seemed to benefit from the addition of helium.  Clearly their robes weren't completely airtight, so some of the gas was able to escape through the necks of the robes.  You could see the effect when Edith Weston went for a high "C" and, for the first time in her life, hit it without breaking one of the windows.  The smile on her face only died away when she realised that Burdwitt, who was the Choir's "double bass", unable to hit notes even on the bass clef normally without the use of extra-tight trousers, also hit the note.  For a while, there was a general impression of a group of eight mice singing in ragged harmony.  But then as they reached the line "et extolle illos usque in aeternum", the singing stopped as they realised that they had indeed been lifted up, but not in the way the song envisaged.
So there they all were, squeaking "get us down" in a manner not dissimilar to the performance of Messrs Alvin and the Chipmunks, while floating approximately eight feet from the ground.  A couple of the lighter choristers with more voluminous robes were actually bobbing off the ceiling.

As the Ceremony ground to a halt, and we all headed for the open air, poor Ardwulf floated out through the chapel door and off across the fields.  He was last seen causing a problem for air traffic somewhere in the direction of Luton Airport.  I'm getting a little worried now.  Those robes were worth quite a lot of money.

Meanwhile, the choir master had disappeared.  We still don't know where he went.  We just know there seems to be quite a smell of sulphur around the place.  But at least the Choir is at an end.